Tag: born again

In good company

My husband, Mike, passed away a little over three months ago.

Unable to remember his age, a few weeks before his death, he asked me, “How old am I?”

I answered, “83, my love.”

“So I’ll be 84 in November?”

“Yes,” I answered. But we both might have been wondering if he would make it to November 23. Still, he appeared to be mulling this over and perhaps making plans for that day.

November 23rd came and I faced his birthday without him. The phone rang. Aunt Lynette, who shared a confidence and special friendship with my husband, had just passed away.

Was that his plan? Did he come and help her cross over to the other side on his birthday? I like to believe so.

I’ve been pretty sick with the flu lately, or I would have posted this sooner. Three nights ago, Aunt Lynette was with me in my dream time.

She was old and frail just like in life, and still wore her oxygen. She lie on a couch and I was there taking care of her.

There were other family members there, but they were going out to shop. I was supposed to go with them. However, I declined as I worried that Aunt Lynette might get up and fall, or even worse.

My aunt attempted to persuade me to go with the others. Leveling with her, I told her she was in no condition to be alone — and I wanted to be the one to stay with her.

We finished our little talk and I crossed the room from her. Don’t remember where I went, but when I came back into the room, my aunt had fallen and was stretched out on the floor.

“Oh, Aunt Lynette!” I felt so guilty for having left her bedside.

She had been a heavy lady in life, but I managed to get her back up on the couch with ease.

A few minutes later, she sat up with more strength than she had shown in the past couple of years. I noticed she no longer wore her oxygen. “Aunt Lynette!” I exclaimed in confusion and concern.

“It’s okay,” she told me. “I’m better. I’m healed. I am well.” She smiled. “You can go now.”

“No. You’re not strong enough,” I answered hesitantly, even though I knew instinctively that it was indeed time to leave her.

“I won’t try to walk alone, don’t worry.” She smiled. “Go.”

I remember putting on my coat as I walked away from her beaming face.

It is reassuring to realize she and my husband are in good company.

I do believe that we must die here in order to be ‘born again.’ My husband and my aunt now live their best life.

Born again

Last night I dreamed that the granddaughter of a friend died. The young lady had yet to reach her twentieth birthday. I went to what I suppose was her wake.

Not in a coffin, she was laid out atop a white sheet, on something like a stretcher. She wore pink pajamas, like the footed Carters that babies wear.

People were gathered in groups whispering, embracing each other, and crying; but no one was near the body of the deceased. I went over to her and noticed she stirred. I knew she was dead but I was not surprised when she opened her eyes and looked up at me, as I caressed her brow.

“You’re the calm one,” she smiled at me. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I smiled back at her.

She closed her eyes and departed.

Upon waking I pondered this dream. The young lady appeared to have a normal-sized head, but much smaller body than she does in life and she was dressed in those pink Carter-like pajamas. What did that mean?

Perhaps, it signified that she was born-again?

I know that while I felt genuine love and closeness with this young lady, I did not mourn her passing. I experienced joy in my soul for her, even while feeling deep sympathy for her family and loved ones.